He released her as if she’d burned
him and she watched as angry grey
eyes suddenly fell cold. Vulcan
nodded and a snarl twisted his
features.
“Of course, wife. I will do as you’ve
always insisted and listen to you.”
With those parting words, he stood
and made his way over to the
adjoining door.
“Wait!” her voice was sharp, and
Vulcan spun to confront her. She sat
utterly still on the bed, and the
curtains made it hard to see her
expression. “When are my sisters to
return to Lytheria? They have already
grown homesick.”
He hadn’t expected the question and
thought for some moments. “They
may return after I introduce them as
my wards, when the Season has
ended.” Vulcan continued to the door,
opened it and stepped through.
***
Jaisyn closed her eyes and listened
to the soft click of the door closing
before sniffling slightly, an effect of
the slight cold she had, and burrowing
her way back under the warm furs.
She hadn’t meant to tell Vulcan to go
to his mistresses, but after she’d
thrown out her accusation and he
hadn’t even had the decency to deny
it, she’d purposely tried to hurt him.
She knew kings took mistresses. Her
father had even had one. Granted, that
was after her mother’s death, but
Jaisyn wasn’t completely naïve. Still,
the thought of another woman with
her husband, the thought of Calista
with her husband, was enough to send
her into a wild rage.
Lady
Calista, she
scoffed as she thought of the title
placed before her name. She was the
unwed mistress of a king. In Lytheria,
she would be shunned; her family
disgraced. Calista Dakar was no lady.
***
“Vulcan is quite difficult to get along
with, is he not? I am guessing he is
quite different from the men to whom
you are accustomed? The men of
Lytheria?”
Jaisyn started on the comfortable
chair in the ladies’ salon and turned to
face Lady Mor’an, who was waiting
for her invitation to be seated. After
that night in her bed chambers,
Vulcan had continued to ignore her,
and apparently had taken her up on
her invitation to take Calista as a
mistress. It had pained her the first
week, to watch as they conversed
with such familiarity, but Lady
Mor’an had kept her busy with
preparations for the upcoming ball
that marked the start of the summer
season in Morden. Hundreds of
invitations had been drafted and sent
out. What seemed like thousands of
workers had been hired to decorate
the ill-used ballroom at Morden Castle
and Jaisyn’s sisters as well as her
ladies were busy overseeing that.
Vulcan had allowed Lady Mor’an to
prepare and hold the balls at the castle
she occupied in Winterly, another of
his estates he’d provided for his
stepmother’s use.
She used her hands to indicate a
seat for Lady Mor’an, which the
woman gladly took.
“My husband has his moments,”
Jaisyn replied cryptically, wondering
where Lady Mor’an was going with
this conversation.
The lady smiled, revealing her
perfect white teeth. “He is like his
father, Frederick, almost an exact
replica. Like his father, Vulcan is
quite handsome, in that dark and
primitive way, and like Frederick, he
is proud, stubborn, and cold.”
Jaisyn copied her smile, and waited,
sensing there was more.
“Men
like
Vulcan
are
not
accustomed to women such as you,
Jaisyn. In fact, they usually marry
submissive wives, Morden women,
who have been trained from birth to
serve them.”
Lady Mor’an’s smile faded slightly.
“Frederick married a princess from a
smaller
Northern
kingdom
that
bordered Morden. I met her once,
when my father brought me to court,
and you remind me of her. Beautiful,
proud, stubborn. Her name was
Eleanor.” Her voice drifted off and
her eyes seemed slightly glazed as her
memory surfaced. “I’m told she did
not wish the marriage, that she’d
wanted nothing but to remain in her
kingdom. Vulcan was but four years
old when she died, a short five years
after her marriage.”
“And you married King Frederick?”
Jaisyn asked lightly, wondering where
Lady Mor’an was going with this.
As if remembering she wasn’t
talking to herself, Lady Mor’an
blinked rapidly and smiled once more.
“Yes.” Suddenly, she waved a
dismissive hand. “How are you
feeling, dear? Has the morning
sickness passed?”
Jaisyn smiled and answered her
questions but when Lady Mor’an left,
she found herself thinking of what the
lady had divulged. What had she
meant by that statement, that men like
Vulcan usually married submissive
women? And why had she compared
Eleanor to her? Was it because they
had both been foreigners who married
her king? Lydia had changed the
subject abruptly, revealing to Jaisyn
that she had wanted to say more, but
had chosen not to.
At supper, she watched Vulcan as
Calista engaged him in quite an
animated conversation, with those
words running through her mind.
Had Lady Mor’an meant to imply
that Calista would be better suited to
be Vulcan’s wife?
***
It had been a tiring day and Jaisyn
had decided to take her supper in her
room and retire afterwards. Her ladies
and her sisters had opted to do the
same, as they too had begun to feel
the results of running around from
early in the morning in preparations
for the ball that was to be held
tomorrow. The Morden summer had
come, and with soft but cool winds.
The garden outside of the salon, had
sprouted little flowers.
She sat on her bed, her eyes
practically closing, as Asha combed
through her hair. When she was
finished, Magda handed her the herbal
tea. Jaisyn drained the cup, and
crawled under the covers, ready for a
long night of uninterrupted dreams.
She was asleep as soon as her head
hit the soft pillow.
***
Vulcan was surprised when Lady
Jane briefly entered the Great Hall to
announce the queen was indisposed.
Supper began as usual, but Lady
Calista found Vulcan to be unusually
quiet this particular eve.
He waited patiently until the
servants were removing the platters
from the table before excusing himself
and leaving the Great Hall. He moved
purposefully up the staircase, not
stopping until he came to his wife’s
chambers. Two guards were stationed
at the end of the hallway. Vulcan
pushed her door in, intent on
demanding why she hadn’t been to
supper, when he noticed that the room
was unusually quiet. The small fire
crackling in the corner was the only
sound coming from within. His eyes
searched out the bed and he saw a
bump under the covers. Closing the
door softly, he walked over to the bed.
His wife was sleeping. She was on her
back this time, her lips slightly parted.
Feeling the anger seep from his
body, he watched her for a few more
moments. He’d thought she had
avoided
supper
to
anger
him
somehow, but he now saw that she
was only tired. In the past weeks,
they’d spoken only when necessary
and only about things that had to do
with the castle, or the court season.
Vulcan had taken to asking Magda
about her health, and every time he’d
asked, he’d been reassured that she
and the baby were perfectly fine. By
now, Jaisyn was slightly over three
months with child, but with the
flowing gowns that she wore, it was
not obvious. Still, when she walked by
him, or stood before him, he found his
eyes lowering to her belly, looking for
an indication that their child was
growing there. An image entered his
mind, of Jaisyn balancing a crying
baby on her hip but just as soon as it
came, it went. Would she be that kind
of mother? Or would she be like Lydia
had been with Varian? Cuddling him
until she needed to host an event, or
entertain guests, and then foisting him
off on a wet nurse?
***
“Vulcan?”
At first Jaisyn thought that she was
dreaming, that she was caught in
some fantasyland where her husband
was staring down at her, his
expression open, his eyes curious. As
soon as his name escaped her lips, he
took a step back, his face closed once
more, and she heard a gruff, “Sleep”
before he turned and headed to his
room.
She might have sat up and stared
after him, but she was extremely tired,
and sleeping for mere hours had done
little to help.
***
Lydia had told Jaisyn exactly what
would be expected of her this night.
Lytheria held courts as well, but
nothing so elaborate as the ones of
Morden.
The
Lytherian
courts
consisted of balls, masquerades,
manor parties, and other gatherings,
that would last for a total of two
months of the year. It was informal,
with court being held wherever the
royal family wished. The Morden
court was very formal, with the first
ball of the Season being held by a
ranking royal, preferably at Morden
Castle, and the final ball being held by
a member of the royal family as well.
She’d been told that for this event, she
would be required to sit beside her
husband and smile, while nobles from
far and near paid their respects and
swore their loyalties. As the lady
schooled her about her behavior,
Jaisyn quickly came to realize that
tonight would not actually be so much
a ball as it would be a meet-the-royals
event.
So, she sat with her hands folded
neatly in the lap of her elaborate white
and gold gown, and watched as noble
upon noble was presented. Inwardly,
she sighed. She’d stolen a glance once
at her husband, who looked stoic and
a little bored. She smiled when at the
thought he must be suffering as much
as she was. Vulcan was a King, a
High King, but he was more warrior
than charming overlord.
As more nobles came forth and
bowed before them, she turned her
head slightly aside, to where her
sisters stood. They were both gowned
to perfection in the dresses they’d
ordered from Madame, and were
currently talking to each other. Isolde
wore a beautiful but demure pink
gown and had removed the cap from
her head for the night. With her hair
curled prettily, Isolde looked much
younger than her eighteen years.
Mathilda wore a charming yellow
gown that set off her eyes. As she
stared hard, she thought “SunFlower”
would be the appropriate name for her
sister tonight. She barely suppressed
the chuckle that would no doubt
mortify Lady Mor’an.
“Presenting…the King of Montak,
Bael Cristof de Renald,” the page
called and Jaisyn immediately turned
to face the man. Another king bowing
to Vulcan? Of course. Her husband
was overlord to many of the smaller
kingdoms of the north, just as he was
overlord of Lytheria.
Bael de Renald was alone. There
was no queen at his side, no sister he
wished to bring before the royal
family. He swept Vulcan with a
dismissive glance that bordered on
rude,
bowed